"Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Clark?"

The Headmaster's voice oozed exasperation with the fourteen year-old who was standing in front of his desk. It was a hot May Saturday morning and he had better things to do with his time than punish naughty boys!

"Nothing, Sir" muttered the boy.

"Your stupidity astounds me sometimes, Simon." continued the Head. "You're plenty old enough to realise that playing around with a javelin is extremely dangerous. You could easily have seriously injured Robert when you threw it at him."

"Yes, Sir." agreed the teenager. "It was stupid. I'm sorry."

"Well, sorry isn't enough, I'm afraid. How many times have I had cause to punish you since you joined this school last year, boy?"

The youngster swallowed hard. He knew exactly what sort of punishment the Headmaster was referring to. "Three times, Sir." he said quietly, remembering the painful occasions.

"Correct." said the head. "Three times. In fact, you're the most frequently caned boy in the school, which is surprising because you're by no means the worst behaved. You just seem to have a knack of getting into trouble for silly, pointless reasons."

Simon remembered the reasons well enough. The first time had been the previous December, for hitting a teacher with a snowball. Two strokes, given after school and through his grey trousers. Despite it being his first caning, he'd taken the strokes well, with just a little yelp in response to each sting and had afterwards thought it better than the two-hour detention, which was the alternative. The second time had been in early February. That time it had been for swearing at his maths teacher. Three strokes this time, much harder than previously The cane had hurt much more and he'd yelled properly at each stroke, leaving the office with a throbbing bottom, tears in his eyes and a determination to avoid the cane in future. The determination had lasted all of three weeks before scribbling 'Simon 4 Shaz' on the wall of the toilets had led to his first Saturday visit to the school. Saturday punishments were reserved for more serious offences and that time the penalty had been four strokes with his jeans down. The lack of jeans, and the extra force of the strokes due to the Headmaster's growing exasperation with him, had made the cane bite even more than before and he'd stood up almost, but not quite, crying.

"I think it was four strokes last time, wasn't it?" asked Mr Phillips.

"Yes, Sir." said the boy, fearing what was to come next.

"Well in that case I don't think I can let you go with fewer than six strokes this time. Six of the best, Clark."

Simon gulped. He'd been expecting this but the confirmation was still frightening. The Headmaster had threatened him with six as he'd struggled back into his jeans after the previous caning, his bottom smarting furiously inside his white underpants, and he'd expected the head to stick to his word. Mr Phillips stood up and walked to the cupboard whise he kept the cane. The familiar weapon emerged, thirty inches of flexible yellow rattan. Simon flinched as Mr Phillips swished the implement through the air.

"All right," he said, "you know the routine, boy. Take your trousers down and then lean across my desk."

Seeing no point in argument Simon obeyed the instruction, dropping his trousers to reveal a pair of white briefs. After rolling his shirt up so it was clear of his bottom, he leaned over the front of the desk about two feet from its left-hand end, holding onto the opposite edge. Mr Phillips stood at the side of the desk, to Simon's left, and tapped the cane gently against the boy's upturned buttocks.

"Right." he said grimly. "You know this will hurt a good deal. I hope you will learn a lesson from it."

"Yes, Sir." muttered the boy, preparing himself for the pain to come.

This was a pause, which lasted seconds but seemed minutes to Simon, then the cane swished through the air and landed with a loud crack across the centre of the boy's bottom. "Ouch!" mouthed Simon as the sharp sting of the stroke registered. He shook his hips from side to side in response but otherwise remained still. Seconds later, the cane sang again. "Oww!" he gasped as the second stroke landed an inch above the first. He gripped the table edge more tightly to resist the temptation to put his hands back and rub his burning bottom. Determined not to cry in front of the Headmaster, he was struggling hard to control his emotions. Mr Phillips gave the boy a few seconds to settle down, then swished the rattan onto the thin white material of the underpants again.

"Ouch - my bum!" he gasped as the stroke landed low down on his buttocks. Aware that his previous caning would have been over after one more stroke, while this one was only half-way through, he looked round to catch the Headmaster's eye with a pleading look.

"I'm sorry, Simon," said the head, acknowledging the plea. "But you must take six strokes this time. Perhaps then you'll make sure this is your last visit to this office for some time." Simon gave a resigned sigh and turned his head to face the floor again. The Headmaster allowed him to settle once more before delivering the fourth stroke. "OOH!" Simon was unable to resist the yelp as the rod sank into his buttocks once more. The end of the cane was curling around his bottom and landing on the bare flesh of his right-hand side, which the briefs failed to cover. Mr Phillips had raised the cane for the fifth time when the ringing of the telephone interrupted the proceedings. Irritated, the head put the cane down on the desk alongside Simon and walked to the 'phone, warning the boy to stay in position and keep quiet. The phone call lasted a couple of minutes and came as a blessed relief to the bending youngster. It gave him a welcome respite from the sting of the cane and allowed the worst of the burning from his bottom to subside. He'd been on the brink of tears but by the time the Headmaster had replaced the receiver and picked up the cane once more, he had recovered enough to be confident he could take the remaining strokes without fuss.

"Ready?" asked the Head. Simon nodded silently and the cane swished again.

"Ooohh!" The boy gasped the spurt of pain from his tender bottom somewhat more severe than he'd anticipated. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk-edge harder in preparation for the final stroke. "OW!" yelped Simon as the final red-hot band of pain was delivered onto his bottom. He almost burst into tears but managed to resist, confining his response to the yell and a further wriggle of his hips.

Simon felt elated at having taken the caning without crying, and looked around for the Headmaster's signal that he could stand up. To his horror, he saw the head raise the cane in preparation for delivering another stroke.

"P. Please, Sir," he spluttered, half-standing, "I've had my six strokes."

"Nonsense, boy." snapped the head. "You've only had five strokes. There's one more to come. Get back in position."

"I've had SIX, Sir." insisted Simon. "Four before the phone rang and two after."

"You had THREE before the phone call." Mr Phillips said, coldly. "Now I won't tell you again - resume your position, unless you want extra strokes." "Look!" snapped Simon, determined to avoid the unwarranted extra stroke. He stood up and yanked his underpants down to his knees.

"Count the lines you've made on my bum, then you'll see how many I've had!"

Reluctantly, the head examined the striped buttocks now displayed before his. To his surprise, there were indeed six distinct red lines running across the olive skin, two of which were distinctly redder than the othis four.

"Oh." he said eventually, acknowledging his mistake. "You seem to be right, Simon. You've had six strokes. You'd better get dressed again."

"Yes, Sir." said the boy, gingerly rubbing at the throbbing lines standing out on his bare bottom. "I've had six of the VERY best. And they hurt, too."

"Good!" said Mr Phillips. "They were supposed to hurt. I hope the experience has taught you a lesson you won't forget. I don't want to have to cane you again, Simon." "And I don't want to be caned again." said the red-faced boy as he eased the underpants back over his sore buttocks. "I'll try and keep out of trouble in future, Sir." "You'd better." Replied the head. "Next time, you'll be taking your underpants down as well as your trousers."

Simon gulped at the threat. The embarrassment would be almost as bad as the caning itself. Mr Phillips replaced the cane in its cupboard and turned around to find Simon pulling his trousers back into place. That done, the boy rubbed their seat gingerly.

"Well, Simon, I think I'm finished with you now. I'm going home, so I'll be locking the school up. Are you coming out or do you want a few minutes to go to the toilets and have a little cry first?"

"I'll come out.," said the boy, giving a cheeky, if watery, grin as he wiped his damp eyes. "I'm not going to cry. It's all over and done with now."

"Good boy." said the head, putting his arm around Simon's shoulders as they left the room. "You'll have a bright future if you can just stop messing around and doing silly things. Now, will you promise to do that?"

"Yes, Sir." said Simon, gently massaging his still-throbbing buttocks through his trousers. "I just forget myself at times."

"Indeed." said the head, uhising Simon down the corridor. "And I wish you wouldn't."

Simon chatted brightly about the school football team to Mr Phillips as the head locked the main doors to the school, then they made their way along the drive.

"Do you want a lift home in my car, Simon?" asked Mr Phillips as they arrived at the vehicle.

"No thanks, Sir." said Simon, with a rueful grin. "I'd sooner walk. I don't think I'll be sitting down in your car or anywhise else for quite a while!" As Simon made his way down the drive, still rubbing the seat of his trousers, the head wondered how long it would be before the boy needed that bare-bottomed reminder to behave. ·